


The Walking Irrelevants

by April_Valentine



Category: Person of Interest (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, prison era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4801193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold Finch and John Reese find themselves in rural Georgia after the world faces a threat even worse than Samaritan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Person of Interest started in 2011. The Walking Dead started in 2010. I haven't settled on the timeline of this fic quite yet; I just had to get this scene down. However, I doubt the broadcast season years for either show are going to fit together perfectly as TWD's seasons don't take place over a calendar year, but POI's do.
> 
> Update, 11/21/2015:  
> The timeline is set now. It's the prison era for TWD, during early season 3. For the POI characters, it's after season 4, when the battle between Samaritan and our team forced the apparent death of the Machine and Harold's last ditch attempt to keep it alive by downloading it into a briefcase. In this story, that occurred days before the world was taken over by the walking dead.

[](http://s259.photobucket.com/user/AprilValentine_bucket/media/walkingirreltitle_zps1ibiz2io.jpg.html)

 

 

The beat up car sputtered as it drove down the empty road. Two men were inside. One, the passenger, was huddled down, his chin on his chest, not looking out the windows, his eyes closed behind his thick glasses. The other drove, his eyes staring ahead, his face impassive. His hair, tinged with gray, was ruffled by the breeze from the open window. His face was solemn, worried, and strayed once in a while to the man riding next to him.

The car was dented, rusty, showing the effects of the long journey and the ravages of the apocalypse. The gas gauge was heading toward empty.

The driver knew that soon it would be time to stop, to take to the road on foot, but he knew his companion wouldn’t like that, wouldn’t be capable of putting in many miles. He had tried to get gas thirty miles back but as with most of the stations they had passed, there was no fuel left. He had siphoned what he could from the few abandoned vehicles in the parking lot, added it to their tank and they’d been on their way.

The whole time he had worked, his companion had remained in the car, silent, unresponsive. As shell shocked as he had been for the past weeks while they were on the road. 

If he had been capable of feeling very much himself, it would have worn on him, the withdrawal and confusion of the other man. But he was able to compartmentalize, to keep his feelings shoved down. He had been trained to keep them out of the picture, to just do his job. His job was kind of gone now, like everything else, but he was still on duty. As long as the other man was alive, he would always be on duty. Everything had changed – everything but that. They may have nothing left, but he still had his duty and his devotion to the other man.

Another fifteen minutes and the tank went dry. The car sputtered, stopped. The man turned the wheel and let the vehicle coast to the side of the road. He turned to his silent companion.

‘Looks like we’ll have to walk from here,” he said, his voice low and raspy. He turned to look more closely at his passenger.

“Did you hear me?”

The other man jumped slightly, as if startled. “Sorry?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere. I was… thinking of some code I left unfinished.” Wide blue eyes darted behind the thick lenses. 

“I said, we’re going to have to walk for awhile.”

At last the other man looked at him. “Really? Is there…” he appeared to try to gather his thoughts. “Is there someplace we can stay? It looks… looks like it will be getting dark soon.”

“I know. I’ll find a place for us to camp. Don’t worry.”

He turned to place a hand on his companion’s shoulder momentarily. “It’ll be all right.”

A slight glance in his direction, the watery gaze hesitant and blinking. “I know. Of course it will.” A moment later there was a half hearted question. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere in Georgia. Get your stuff.”

He climbed out of the vehicle, running a hand through his mussed salt and pepper hair. Opening the back door, he reached inside to pull a khaki duffel out. It clanked, its contents obviously metallic and heavy. He slung it over his shoulder, along with the automatic rifle he’d been carrying. He moved to the trunk and opened it, gathering the rest of their supplies, bags of clothing and food. A few other supplies. Then he rounded to the passenger side.

He opened that door, and with a hand to the other man’s elbow, helped him out of the car. He emerged slowly, blinking at the sinking sun. He adjusted his clothes, pulling them into place in a fussy manner, then settling his glasses further up on his nose. He patted the shoulder of his tall friend, then turned and reached inside the car once more.

When he turned back, he was holding a large briefcase. He nodded to the younger man, indicating he was ready.

With a sigh, the driver turned to set off down the road. Beside him, the older man followed, his gait unsteady, limping, his gaze still downfallen.

After an hour, the older man was visibly tiring. He stumbled; his friend caught his arm. From the trees lining the road, branches moved, and the sound of low growling could be heard. 

Suddenly, the undead broke from the tree line, advancing toward the two men. The taller man sighed, and let his bundles drop to the ground. He spared a glance to the older man, whose eyes were darting between him and the slowly moving creatures. 

“I’ve got this,” he told his companion, keeping his voice low. He shrugged out of the top coat he was wearing, letting it fall to the ground. He reached into the back of his suit trousers, withdrawing a Sig Sauer from his belt. With precision, he took out the lumbering once-people, never letting them get close enough to touch him or his cowering companion.

Each crack of the weapon caused the older man to flinch, eventually covering his ears and turning away from the gruesome sight of brains and blood spattering into the air. 

The older man tuned his back on the horrible sight, his voice wavering as he begged. “Use your knife. Please, John, use your knife.”

“Shit.” His friend shook his head, grimacing, clearing showing he hadn’t thought about it in his haste to stop the undead. He reached down to the hem of his black trousers, where he kept his knife in an ankle sheath, and in that moment, one of the less decayed ones lurched toward him, close enough to grab at his shoulder. 

He stood, his knife glinting, as he shrugged the creature off. 

“The hell you think you’re doin’?” a gruff voice yelled. At the same moment, there was a swish of air, and an arrow appeared in the forehead of the attacker. It slumped to the ground and John turned. 

Not an arrow, he realized. The man who had called out was carrying a crossbow. 

“Thanks,” John offered. The man strode over, bent and withdrew his bolt from the head of the dead thing at their feet. 

“Yeah, well you were gonna bring a herd down on alla us, you kept shootin’ that thing.” Daryl Dixon stepped back and looked up and down at the stranger. He hadn’t seen anyone looking so out of place in months. The guy was all city-fied, wearing a black suit and a mussed but still white shirt. No necktie though. There was that.

“You got this?” another voice called out. 

“S’okay, Rick,” Daryl called back, sliding the bolt back into his quiver. “Looks like we got some city slickers out here. Too stupid not to take out walkers with knives ‘steada guns.”

“I… I didn’t think,” the man in the suit said, sounding apologetic. “My friend… he’s not really able to help… much.”

Daryl followed his gaze, finally noticing the other person. This one looked even stranger than the first, like some banker or professor, like some guy you only saw in movies or probably cities -- before. He was wearing a little three piece suit and carrying a case of some kind. As he straightened awkwardly and turned toward Daryl and Rick, Daryl could see that there was a red light blinking on the top of the case. He’d never seen anything like that. 

“Rick?” he asked, deferring to his partner. 

Rick responded with a nod and stepped closer to the strangers. “You guys lost?” he asked, his voice careful but seemingly friendly.

“I guess so,” the tall one answered. 

“I’m Rick Grimes,” he said holstering the Colt Python he carried. “This is Daryl.”

“John… Reese.” 

Daryl noticed the way the man’s sharp eyes darted over toward his companion. “Our car ran out of gas a few miles back. “

“We’ve got a camp, back in the woods a piece,” Rick offered. Daryl’s stomach clenched at the words, his body tensing. These men didn’t look like they could be trusted, any more than the dirty rednecks and vagrants they’d come across on the road. The suit asshole was handy with his gun, so maybe they were even more dangerous than the run of the mill survivors they’d encountered. If they were, and Rick made the mistake of trusting the wrong folks again, Daryl knew he would have to pick up the pieces when they lost one of their own and his lover suffered for it.

Suit Guy glanced toward his older friend. “We wouldn’t be any trouble.” He nodded toward the packs he’d dropped when the walkers appeared. “We’ve got some food we’d be glad to share with you.”

Rick nodded slowly, his hand hovering close to his gun. Daryl hefted his bow, ready to bring it up for action if need be. 

“I got to ask you three questions first,” Rick said, shifting his stance toward both of the strangers. 

“Questions?” the older man looked up brightly. “I am quite fond of questions.” He took a few steps toward them, his gait halting and ungainly. 

“Okay,” Rick said, drawing a breath. “First question: how many walkers have you killed?”

“Walkers?” the older man responded curiously. “You mean, the undead?” At Rick’s nod, he sort of smiled. “Interesting. They do… walk.” 

“How many?” Rick persisted.

“Forty two,” man who called himself Reese answered. Not hesitation, no figuring, Daryl noticed. His gaze didn’t waver and he didn’t look either ashamed or proud.

“How many people?” 

The way the older guy glanced at the tall one wasn’t lost on Daryl and he was pretty sure Rick noticed too. His grip on his crossbow tightened. 

“Before all this?” Reese began, “I killed many.” He cleared his throat and looked Rick straight in the eye. “I worked for the government.” It was said without apology or defensiveness. 

“John doesn’t kill,” the older man spoked up, his eyes holding a strange expression of trust and pride. “Unless he has to.”

“Why?” Daryl saw Rick’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. His narrow eyes fixed on the tall stranger.

“I only kill someone who isn’t innocent or who is hurting an innocent person,” Reese said, his voice steady and strong.

Before Rick could respond, the sound of approaching walkers interrupted the men. 

“We better git movin’,” Daryl pointed out. 

Rick pulled his gun, dropping into a crouch. He kept his eyes on the woods, jerking his head back in the direction of their camp. “This way.”

The little older man didn’t look like he was going to do so well over the rough terrain. Reese grabbed their packs, guiding his friend solicitously, his gun out and trained on the walkers. The older man seemed to tighten his grip on his case.

They had to kill a few on the way, but they managed to lose them. Still walking carefully, the older man at least held his own, not complaining or asking for assistance. 

In a few minutes, they got to where the others were camped. Maggie and Glenn, Carol and Hershel, stood at their approach, eyes widening at the sight of the strangers.

“Oh, my,” the older man said. He ran his hands over his wrinkled suit, tugging his vest into place and raking a hand through his spikey hair. Tucking his case under one arm, he even pulled his tie tighter. Daryl thought he must be trying to make himself look presentable for the new people he was about to meet.

Rick stepped forward. “This is John Reese, everyone.”

The tall man nodded diffidently, eyes going from one to the other and Daryl watched the way he seemed to assess them all in a glance. He let his packs down and reached for his friend, his hand finding the small of the other man’s back.

The shorter man drew himself up, as if wanting to look respectable. “Hello, everyone. I’m afraid Mr. Reese and I don’t quite look our best at the moment. We haven’t been able to find a single dry cleaner since we left New York.” He adjusted his glasses. “You can call me Mr. Finch.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues from Daryl's pov. Later that evening after everyone has met Reese and Finch, the newcomers.
> 
> Fixed a couple typos and did a bit of editing as of 11/21/15.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the fact they are somewhat contemporaneous, since the Zombie Apocalypse hasn't taken place in New York during most of Person of Interest, I've decided that this is set at the end of that show's fourth season, after managing to get the Machine into the briefcase, as is obvious from Finch having it with him in the first chapter. For The Walking Dead characters, however, this is set in the prison timeline, before trouble from Woodbury and the Governor.

Hours had passed since the two strangers had joined their group at the campfire. Most everyone was asleep, but Daryl was wide awake, leaning back against a tree, eyes and ears alert for the sound of danger, while his mind continued to wonder why Rick had asked the men to come with them. 

They were stretched out a few feet from the rest of the group. The younger man, Reese, was leaning back against a tree, with the older man sort of huddled up against him, his head leaning on the other’s shoulder. He had taken off his glasses and Daryl had noted that Reese had put them in the breast pocket of his own suit jacket to keep them safe. 

A twig snapped and Daryl reached for his bow.

“Easy there.” Rick’s voice came out of the dark to his left and Daryl felt a warm hand grip his shoulder. 

“Shit, man,” Daryl complained gruffly. His eyes darted back toward the sleeping group, still self-conscious about Rick touching him. 

“They’re all asleep.” Rick moved to sit next to him, letting their shoulders and hips brush. 

“You sure about that New York guy? He don’t look like he ever sleeps.”

“Maybe he’s not,” Rick said, leaning even closer to rest his head against Daryl’s. His voice was low, suggestive. Daryl loved that tone coming from Rick, even though he felt his cheeks warming with a blush. 

“What are you thinking, bringin’ ‘em back to the prison?” he asked. 

“What was I ‘sposed to do, Daryl? I couldn’t just leave ‘em out here.” Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They look more outta place than I did when I first got to your camp at the quarry.”

Daryl chuckled, remembering. “There you were, all clean-shaven and wearin’ a white t-shirt in a place like that.” 

“Guess I didn’t have much apocalypse cred at that time,” Rick said, shaking his head. “Must have been why you threw a string of squirrels at me.”

Daryl turned back toward the fire. “There was another reason y’know.” The anger he had felt for Rick at that time was such a dim memory, it didn’t matter any more.

Rick’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “I know. Sorry – “

“You’ve said that enough,” Daryl interrupted him. He leaned his head so his check rested against the back of Rick’s hand. “S’in the past.” He kissed Rick’s scarred knuckles. “I know Merle more’n likely deserved it.”

“I still felt like a cop at the time.” Rick’s voice was subdued. “It had only been a few days since I’d woken up in the hospital.”

“That hadta suck,” Daryl nodded. Rick had spoken to the group about it, Daryl knew, but in those early days, he hadn't been paying much attention, still pissed at Rick about leaving Merle handcuffed to that roof in Atlanta. 

“I didn’t know how long it had been.” Rick’s voice was soft. “I thought Shane was there, visitin' me, talking to me about the flowers he brought.” He paused. “I opened my eyes up and was surprised he wasn’t right in front of me. I called out to him, askin’ if he was in the john. I felt so weak… there was no sound. All the machines were off. I turned and saw the flowers, but instead of looking fresh, I realized they were all dried out. That’s how I knew I must have been out of it for awhile.”

“What happened then?” 

“I got up… well, tried to. I fell down a couple times. It took a while before I had any coordination. I pulled out the tubes they had in me, drank a lotta water in the bathroom, and got to the door of the room… I still thought somebody would be there.”

“But you were alone?” Daryl’s stomach clenched in sympathy. He had never had anybody to rely on himself, except for Merle's sporadic presence, but still, waking up alone in the hospital must have been really bad.

“Yeah. Nothing but some emergency lights were on. I got to the nurses’ station, tried the phone and it was dead. I looked around… the place was a mess. Papers everywhere, fallen wires… and then I saw some bodies, bullet holes in the _walls_ … and there was this set of doors, chained shut.” Daryl could feel Rick shiver beside him and he was sure it had nothing to do with the temperature outside. “Somebody had spray painted ‘Do not open, dead inside’ on the doors. I thought… dead people with some infection or something must be in there. But then…” His voice trailed off. “The doors rattled, like somebody was inside trying to get out. And I saw fingers…coming through, trying to reach…”

“Confusin’,” Daryl agreed.

“For sure. I got out of there, and saw hundreds of bodies in the parking lot, a downed ‘copter… and it was all so silent. I thought I was dreaming, and then I made it home and found Lori and Carl gone.” He shook his head as if trying to pull out of the memories. 

“Where were you?” he asked after a minute or two. 

“With Merle,” Daryl told him. “He kept on just doin’ what he did, getting’ drunk or high, getting’ with women. I wanted to leave, get the hell outta Dodge, next thing you know all hell broke loose and we went on the run. Found the camp a few days later.” He scraped his boot through the leaves and scratched at his knee. “Not really sure why they let us stay.”

Rick leaned closer to him, pressing his shoulder against Daryl’s. “I’m glad they did.”

Rick’s soft voice made Daryl’s heart beat a little faster, like it always did. “Well, yeah…” was all he could think of to say.

Rick pressed closer to him, reaching out to touch his chin and turn Daryl toward him. His voice dropped to a softer whisper. “Kiss me?”

Daryl couldn’t help sweeping his gaze back toward the group to make sure they weren’t being watched, then he complied, leaning forward to find Rick’s lips with his own. The kiss was soft, sweet, just a peck really, since they weren’t alone. But it was nice. It had taken Daryl so long to get comfortable with the idea of being with someone in the first place and they hadn’t said anything to the rest of the group about what was going on between them yet. It had been nearly a month but for him, it was monumental. He had cared so much for Rick for such a long time but hadn’t known what to do about it, or if he even should try. And apparently Rick had felt the same way. Discovering that had been both terrifying and amazing, but the best thing to come out of the mess the world was in. Rick had lost so much, had so much on his shoulders. Daryl was glad to be able to be more to him than just a good friend.

A moan from the far side of the fire startled them both. Daryl had his crossbow in his hands before he even thought about it. 

“What was that?” Rick asked, his voice tense with coiled energy. 

It came again and they realized it was the older man, Finch. Next to him, Reese leaned close, whispering to him. The man must have been having a nightmare. 

That was nothing new, for anyone, these days. But yelling in your sleep could bring walkers. Daryl glanced at Rick. His eyes were on the newcomers.

Reese had knelt up and was easing his friend down onto the ground more fully, pulling the blanket they’d been using over him. He took off his suit jacket and folded it, then slid it under the older man’s head, then, as if finally certain he was comfortable, Reese got to his feet. He looked around at the sleeping people by the fire, his eyes finding Rick and Daryl on watch seconds later.

Daryl’s grip on his bow relaxed and he eased himself minutely away from Rick’s side. 

With a quick glance down at his companion, Reese walked over to them, surprisingly quiet for a city man, Daryl thought. 

“He all right?” Rick questioned, keeping his voice low. 

“Just a bad dream,” Reese answered, stopping when he got to them. His voice was a soft rasp, more gravelly than his own, Daryl noticed. “He’s… he’s not himself right now. What’s happened has been hard on him.”

“Like he’s the only one,” Daryl muttered. 

Reese met his eyes. “Yeah. I can see you people haven’t had it easy.” He looked back toward the group sleeping by the fire. “How long have you… been out here?”

“Since it started,” Rick told him. “We had a camp back on the outskirts of Atlanta. It’s over run. We had to move on, camping different places. We found a farm; Hershel’s place, but we had to leave there too. We’ve been where we are now for awhile. It’s safe. For the moment.”

“Safe as any place is,” Daryl added. 

“What about you?” Rick asked. “How did you get here? Where are you from?”

“We came from New York, as we told you earlier,” he said, seemingly not inclined to give out a lot of details. “When it happened, we were… underground. Harold took it kind of hard. We tried staying where we were but eventually we ran out of food, so we left the city and just started driving south.”

“What do you mean ‘underground’?” Daryl asked. 

“In the subway,” Reese explained. “Most New Yorkers used it for daily transportation.”

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. I’ve heard.” 

“But… “ Rick seemed to be slowly forming a question. “You were… just riding on the subway?”

Reese glanced back toward his friend. The man hadn’t moved and seemed to be sleeping peacefully now. With a shrug, he seemed to decide he could tell Daryl and Rick more. 

“We were… involved with some things. We worked together to try to help people who needed help. There were bad people who tried to stop us.” Reese rubbed at his forehead, then seemed to almost chuckle. “This is going to sound crazy. Our enemies wanted to take over.”

“Take over you helping people?” Rick asked.

“You might say.” Reese paused, met Rick’s eyes. “They… uh… they wanted to take over everything. The world.”

Rick glanced from Reese to Daryl and back again. “What?”

“They almost had us beaten. We went underground, a secure hiding place we had. We tried to work on some things we needed to do. And then the power went out.”

“You’re pretty vague about this,” Rick pointed out.

“I know,” Reese agreed. “But Harold is a very private man. We had to keep a lot of secrets, for such a long time. I still don’t feel I can say that much without his being all right with it.” He sighed deeply. “And it doesn’t matter now anyway. With no power, there’s nothing we can do anymore. At least our enemies didn’t get their way. When we first found out people were dying and everything was going to hell, we thought it was them.”

Rick nodded. “I guess someone who wanted to take over the world might use a virus like this.” Daryl looked at him. Surely Rick wasn’t buying a word of Reese’s story. The man was either a complete nut case or was going to kill them in their sleep. Or both.

“That’s what I thought, actually. I got out of our hideout, made my way up to street level… and saw what was going on. I thought they had unleashed some biological weapon. I don’t think it was them, really. By what we were able to find out, they had nothing to do with it. It killed our enemies, or most of them. We think.” He looked back toward Finch one more time. “Funny how things work out.”

“Yeah, hilarious.” Daryl said sarcastically.

“If Harold was himself, he would tell you more. But he hasn’t really come to terms. He is actually a genius. But this has messed with his mind.” Reese looked torn, sad about it. Daryl could understand that much. “He’s like a shell of himself right now. He’s lost everything he built. Every reason he had for living. He wanted to help the dead for a while. I had to show him we couldn’t do that. And some people we knew who were important to us were lost. That about killed him. I think sometimes he sort of forgets what the world has become. He slips away from me…”

“Not everyone can handle this,” Rick said, his voice sympathetic. “Hershel there, he had been on his farm when it started. Didn’t even want to let us stay when we first got there. He thought the dead could be cured too. It took having his farm over run to make him understand.”

“There are times when Harold seems more himself, like he gets it,” Reese said. “And I think… I think he’s going to be okay. He starts talking about how we can still find people to help, about rebuilding… what we were doing. And when he gets to that point, I know he’s gone again.” His voice had remained steady, but his expression crumpled, revealing deep anguish over his friend’s state.

“Damn,” Daryl husked. There was something about Reese’s words that, despite the craziness, did ring true. Daryl had a knack; sometimes more than Rick, of knowing which people were okay and which weren’t. Even if the stuff Reese was talking about – like ‘enemies’ wanting to take over the world and shit – the way he obviously was upset about his friend’s state of mind was clearly real.

A rustling in the woods behind them suddenly halted all conversation. 

“Damn,” Daryl hissed, bringing up his crossbow. He should know better than to get distracted in the woods. He got to his feet, noting that, along with Rick, Reese did so too. 

The rustling came again, sounding closer this time. But they didn’t hear any groans or growls.

Rick pulled out his flashlight and cautiously lit up the trees behind them. Daryl moved closer, standing with his back to Rick in case they were attacked. Without being asked, Reese took up a flanking position. 

“Should we wake the others?” Daryl asked softly.

“Not yet,” Rick told him. “If the light draws them… we’ll do it then.”

Suddenly there was a much louder sound of leaves and twigs snapping, as if something big were moving fast out there. Maybe it wasn’t walkers, Daryl began to think.

They heard a soft yelp. Once. Then repeated. It sounded more like a bark this time. Probably a stray dog. Or maybe a wolf.

“Bear?” 

All three men turned at the sound of Finch’s voice. The man was sitting up, awake, attempting to get to his feet.

“Bear, is that you?” he called, louder this time.

Another bark and Daryl was aware of an animal coming at them from out of the woods. He lifted his bow – 

“Don’t!” Reese grabbed Daryl’s arm, yanking his bow down. The man was both fast and stronger than Daryl would have thought a guy in a suit would be.

“Bear? _Hier!_ ” He called out, not as loud as his friend, but still loud enough to draw the attention of walkers. 

The crashing got louder, closer and before Daryl could wrench out of Reese’s grip, a blur of motion streaked out of the woods, the animal frantically barking and yelping in recognition.

Reese bent to greet it. Daryl felt Rick’s hand on his arm as Reese went down with the big dog that was now licking his face in excitement.

“Guess it’s not a walker,” Daryl said sardonically, finally lowering his weapon completely.

“Bear, Bear!” Mr. Finch had managed to limp his way over to the three of them. Rick reached him first.

“Sir, please keep your voice down,” he said urgently. 

The man looked chastened. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just – “ He gestured. “It’s Bear. Our dog.” His voice broke and his face looked like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

He sank to his knees beside Reese, arms outstretched. “Bear!” The dog turned from one man to the other, just as eagerly greeting Finch as he had Reese, tail wagging, softly yipping.

The commotion woke the others.

“What’s going on?” Glenn was the first to get over to the group, Maggie right after him.

“Is that a dog?” Carol asked, her voice incredulous.

Back at the fire, Hershel was sitting up.

Reese got to his feet. “Bear, _zit_ ” he told it, and Daryl realized he had been using weird foreign words. Immediately, the dog sat, looking attentive but obedient.

Reese helped Finch to his feet. The other man’s face was a study in happiness.

“This is Bear,” Reese said, looking around. “He’s a Belgian Malinois. He got away when we were trying to get gas the other day.” A look of remorse crossed his face. “I was worried about him…”

“Looks like he found you,” Glenn said, grinning down at the excited animal. 

“Of course he did,” Mr. Finch declared fondly. He dug in his jacket pocket and produced, to Daryl’s shock, a dog biscuit. “Here, Bear. Good boy.” Despite the man’s pleasure and relief, he at least managed to keep his voice down.

The dog gulped down his treat and looked like he wanted more. 

“I have some dog food in my bags,” Mr. Reese said then, starting to head over to where he had put them.

“How long has it been since we’ve seen a dog?” Maggie was asking, her smile almost as big as Finch’s. She knelt down and the dog looked at Finch as if asking permission.

“It’s okay, Bear,” Finch said, his voice sounding more like he was talking to a person. 

Bear got up from his sit and hurried to Maggie, tail wagging. Glenn bent to pet the big head too. The two of them exchanged a look of amazement.

“John said Bear might get killed but he’s so brave,” Finch said quietly. “I knew he would find us. I knew he’d be okay.”

Reese had returned with a can of food and dumped the contents out on the ground. Bear turned to gobble at it hungrily.

“You thought walkers would get him?” Rick asked the other man softly. Daryl realized he was being quiet about it because of how close Mr. Finch was to him. In light of what Reese had said about the man, Daryl figured it might be better not to talk about how walkers killed and ate deer and horses and probably dogs too.

Reese nodded tightly. “He’s a highly trained military dog,” he told them. “But those… things out there. I didn’t want Harold to worry, but I was.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down to pet the dog himself. 

He stood up straight again and looked to Rick and Daryl. “Maybe we can train him to warn us when walkers are coming,” he offered. 

The two men looked at each other, then back down at the dog. It was something they obviously had never considered.

Daryl liked dogs, but had learned better than to get attached to animals since the world had gotten screwed. But if this dog could track his owners through the woods and not get himself eaten…

“Maybe,” he responded, newfound interest in the strangers. He let his gaze include Rick. “You think?”

Rick shrugged, looking intrigued. “What do we have to lose?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Harold and Bear go with Rick and the group to the prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've gotten the timeline figured out. It's been about two months since Judith was born. I am adding time to the canon to allow more time for Daryl and Rick's relationship to have blossomed when they meet John and Harold. So when the Governor learns about the prison, John and Harold will be integrated into the group.

The sun was just breaking over the horizon as the group arrived at their camp. John, still guiding Harold with a hand on his elbow, paused to look at the structure, rather impressed by the size. Their new acquaintances had told him that they were staying at a prison, but he hadn’t expected it to be so big or so well fortified.

“John?” Harold piped up, noticing that they had stopped walking. He straightened and looked around curiously. “Is that…?”

“Apparently, yes,” John told him. “The prison where our hosts are staying.”

“My, my.” Harold gazed at it for a moment, then glanced back at John with a fond look in his eyes. “You never got to see me all dressed up in my prison riot garb, did you? I was ready to break you out of Rikers.”

John’s smile was tight. “I know. You would have been quite the badass guard.” He squeezed his friend’s arm while still keeping his eyes on the imposing buildings. He wasn’t sure the people they had met yesterday could be fully trusted. For all he knew, they would lock him and Harold into a cell there and throw away the keys.

“We were pretty excited when we first found it,” Rick said, stopping next to John in the tall grass. “Looks ugly, I know, but it was a godsend.”

Harold turned to pat Bear and then followed the dog a few steps away as he sniffed at the grass.

“How long were you out on the road before you came here?” John asked.

Rick sighed. “Months. The whole winter. Runnin’ pretty much in circles, lookin’ for some place defensible, some place with supplies. Never stayed anywhere more than three nights.”

“That must have been hard.” John paused. “How many were in your group then?”

“There were ten of us,” Rick answered after a slight pause. “We lost a few after we cleared the prison.”

“So now you have…?”

Rick’s eyes got a faraway look in them. “Ten, actually. Wait, eleven.” 

“Long story?” John asked.

“Kind of.” He glanced toward the rest of the group. Hershel had dropped down to sit on a fallen log, obviously needing a moment. Maggie stood with her hand on his shoulder while Beth handed him a bottle of water. 

“The place was full of walkers so we had to clear it one space at a time. The field, then the inner yard and then the cell blocks. Some of ‘em are still not cleared out. Hershel got bit and while we were takin’ care of amputatin’ his leg, we found a few prisoners who had been locked in the cafeteria,” Rick said, apparently feeling they had time for him to talk a moment. “They didn’t even know what had happened to the rest of the world.”

“Interesting,” John said noncommittally.

“Two of them were loose canons. They’re dead now.” John noticed the way Rick’s face went blank at that statement, recognizing that Rick was the reason they were dead. This southern man must be more like John than he had first considered. “The other two are okay guys so they’ve joined us. We had some… losses. But that makes us eleven now. With the baby.” 

No wonder finding shelter in the prison had been so important. “You have a mother and baby in the group?”

Rick’s eyes filled with a combination of joy and grief. “It’s my baby. My wife… she died having her.”

“I’m so sorry.” John couldn’t imagine having to deal with something like that. He had no idea what had become of Leila after the dead started walking in New York, but he had thought about her often. “I’ve never had children. Harold either.”

“My son is with us too. Carl.” Rick was now focusing on the prison up ahead.

John noticed the way his eyes went distant as if he were trying to keep from letting his feelings get away from him, and no wonder.

“How old is your son?” he asked cautiously.

“He’s twelve… no, thirteen now. I think.” Rick looked embarrassed by his uncertainty. “Yeah, he’s thirteen. He’s had to grow up quick though. Since all this happened.”

“I don’t even know what day of the week it is anymore,” John offered, feeling a need to make the man feel better. 

Rick nodded. “Doesn’t actually much matter, does it?”

John glanced toward Harold. “It does to him. He was very into all the details. I think sometimes he kind of forgets what’s happened.” He looked at Rick. “I don’t know what I’d do if he lost his mind completely because of this.”

Rick met his eyes. “Some people can’t cope. I’ve seen some who didn’t believe the walkers were really dead. That there would be a cure or that the government would swoop in and do something. But we’re on our own it seems.” 

John agreed. He and Harold, more than anyone else, had not been under the illusion that the government would swoop in and save the population. 

Rick had noticed the direction of John’s gaze. “Maybe being settled someplace with us will help him. It’s harder for people that are alone or in really small groups.”

“I hope so,” John said fervently. “Thanks for helping us.” It felt strange to say that. He was the one who was used to helping people in need, not the other way around. Their short conversation had given him more reason to trust Rick. John had built a life on assessing the goodness or evil in others and he was surer than he had been last night that Rick – and his group – were decent people. Maybe he could find a way to help them somehow, pull his weight, do his share. 

If only Harold could find a place in the world again, John thought, his eyes resting on his lover, aching for the Harold that had gotten lost when the power grid went down, when all his brilliance couldn’t cope with a world so changed, one that didn’t need a computer genius when just finding food and water was hard enough to manage.

Rick nodded, then started walking again and the rest of the group picked up the pace too. In moments, they were at the prison gates.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two new chapters in one day! 
> 
> The group meets Reese and Finch and Daryl finds out more about their relationship.
> 
> Also, a flashback detailing how Rick and Daryl got together, so finally, some sex in this fic!

They were inside the gates of the prison now, introductions having been made between the rest of the group and the newcomers. Beth was delighted about the dog, Daryl noticed, smiling as the big military dog acted like a pup at all the attention the teenage girl offered him. He sniffed at L’il Asskicker too, Daryl’s eyes narrowing in concern.

“Don’t worry,” John told him. “Bear can protect her if at some point we are all needed elsewhere. _Bewaken_ , Bear.”

The dog immediately sat, eyes on the baby. “I’ve trusted Bear to protect Harold’s life many times.”

Daryl had just grunted. He liked dogs, sure. And maybe this one could help them out here too. Might be good at warning them if walkers got through the fence and stuff.

The whole group headed for the cafeteria where Carol had made breakfast. 

Now that the meal was over, Daryl was showing the two men around. Rick had asked him to find them cells and explain the layout to them, so that’s what he was doing, while trying to scope them out too. He was still a little spooked by the man in the suit, not knowing what to expect from him or the other man. Harold was older and not quite processing what was going on around him, so he didn’t worry Daryl much. This John was another matter. 

Under the suit he was clearly strongly built and in good shape. They’d seen he was a dead-eye shot and Daryl sensed he could handle himself in a fight. But was he the kind of guy that would earn your trust and then stab you to death in the night and steal everything you owned?

Reese seemed to sense Daryl’s concern – and that in itself was a bit disconcerting. “We do appreciate this,” he told Daryl, his low voice rough like sandpaper but soft like silk. “We don’t look like the kind of people you’re used to, I know. But Harold believes in saving people, making their lives better.” He paused to glance at his companion who was looking around the prison interior as if measuring it mentally, considering lines and angles and the strengths of the building. “He found me and saved my life,” Reese continued.

Daryl felt the other man’s sincerity then. Now that he thought about it, Rick had sort of found him and saved his life too, when Daryl had been lost without his brother, alone among strangers, with no self worth.

They turned a corner and Daryl pointed out two cells across the hall from each other. Carol and some of the others had been gradually cleaning out the unused cells in case others joined the group or if they just needed to find new quarters. Bodies had been removed, floors and walls had been washed and the thin mattresses aired out. 

“You guys can use these,” he said. “We got linens and stuff down in the laundry. It ain’t much but the beds ain’t too bad. Most of us hang up a sheet for a little privacy.”

“We’ll only need one cell,” Reese said easily. He put a hand on Harold’s arm to hold him back while he entered the one on the left and checked it out first. Daryl thought he looked like a man seeking out danger itself more than random walkers. When he was satisfied, he dropped his heavy duffel on the lower bunk and came back out. 

“This is our room, Harold,” he said, guiding the other man, who still seemed to be avidly looking around in wonder. 

The eyes which took in the grey-walled cell held a bit of prissy distaste. “It’s not exactly the Ritz,” Harold murmured, carefully placing his briefcase on the upper bunk.

Then, as Daryl watched, he moved to wrap his arms around Reese and lift his mouth up to kiss him. When they parted, his eyes were twinkling behind the thick glasses. “What an adventure,” he smiled, then leaned up for another kiss.

Daryl turned away, embarrassed by the open display. He’d gotten used to seeing Maggie and Glenn like that but this was the first time he’d seen two men who were a couple since the world had gone crazy. 

Now he understood the two of them, he realized. They loved each other. That was why Reese was so protective, why they had fled New York and were still together as they searched for a place to be safe. 

Rick probably had figured it out sooner than Daryl did.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, well, I’ll let you get… uh… settled.” Realizing they had completely forgotten his presence, Daryl turned to leave them alone.

He felt the sudden need to be at Rick’s side. As he went to find him, images of how they had found each other came rushing back to him.

*****

Rick was staggering when Daryl saw him, bumping into the wall as he made his way down the corridor, covered with blood and gore, his expression vacant.

“Rick, hold up.”

Daryl grimaced when Rick didn’t stop. He probably hadn’t even heard him speak, Daryl realized. He grabbed for Rick’s arm and the man reacted then.

Turning, eyes filled with horror and hate, Rick raised his fist.

Daryl managed not to flinch back. At the last second, Rick recognized him and his arm froze, then dropped. His face went blank again and he just stood there in front of Daryl, pale under the blood on his face.

“Where you goin’?” Daryl asked.

“Shower.” Rick’s voice was raw, his eyes empty. “I need… need to check on C-Carl. And I’m…” he waved his hand in the general direction of his blood splattered face and body.

“Okay,” Daryl nodded, agreeing. “That’s good.” If Rick realized how he looked, maybe he was regaining his wits some.

Rick looked at him a moment longer, then turned to resume heading toward his destination.

He stumbled though, nearly falling in the prison corridor. Daryl caught him, steadying him.

“Huh?” Rick seemed confused, disoriented.

“Let me give you a hand,” Daryl offered. Rick hadn’t been inclined to listen to anyone in the past hours, even fighting Glenn when he’d tried to help him clear the boiler room, lost in the agony of his grief. He wasn’t sure Rick would allow his help now.

Rick didn’t answer verbally. He shrugged in acquiescence though, letting Daryl take him by the arm and begin to guide him.

They didn’t talk as they made their way to the prison shower room, Rick too far inside his own head, Daryl feeling unsure there was anything he could say that would help the other man.

It threw him, seeing Rick this way. He couldn’t forget watching as the comprehension that Lori was dead dawned on the other man earlier that day. The walkers had been killed, the blaring alarm silenced, the prisoner who had started it all killed by Oscar, and they had all begun to wander back into the courtyard, hoping to find everyone safe.

But everyone wasn’t safe. T-Dog was gone. Carol. Daryl had been trying to push down the pain of her absence when they all saw Maggie and Carl coming out of the other door.

Maggie was holding something. Something that moved and cried softly, weakly. And Carl… his face was blank, bereft.

“Where’s…?” Rick had asked, unable to accept the obvious. Only when he looked at his son’s face did realization strike him. 

“No… Oh, no…” Rick’s voice had been a wail, a world of hurt. As Daryl watched, he had turned, lost to grief, collapsing onto the hard concrete and sobbing aloud. 

Nobody knew what to do, Daryl least of all. His own grief forgotten, all he could do was feel Rick’s. It shouldn’t have happened. Rick had fought so hard for the prison, for a safe place for his wife to give birth. For them all to have another chance. And now it was gone and Rick couldn’t even stand up under the onslaught of grief. Daryl made himself approach, waved his hand before his leader’s face and received no reaction.

Not good, not good at all. Everybody else was just standing there, in shock and pain. But they couldn’t. The baby was crying.

Daryl knew they couldn’t just stand there collecting themselves; if Rick was out of commission, if there was no mother to nurse the baby, there was no time to waste. So he did what he had to do, taking Maggie on a quick run for formula and other supplies. He was a mess at knowing what to do when it came to talking, how to help the strong man broken with loss, but he knew how to hunt, to find supplies.

Later, as he held the tiny newborn, felt her calm when he offered the bottle, he felt stronger and safer than he ever had in his life. He could do this. He could help, he could be what this family needed him to be.

That’s what he wanted to do for Rick now. They reached the big, dank shower room, where cold water cleansed them after a long day in the Georgia heat. It was shadowy in the evening, the only light coming from the moon that shone outside.

Rick stopped at the entrance, looking around in confusion as if he didn’t know what they were doing there.

“Gonna take a shower, Rick,” Daryl said gruffly. “S’okay.”

“Right.” Rick nodded, strode forward, seemingly finding some strength now that he knew what he was supposed to be doing. 

Daryl moved to the closest set of taps and turned the water on. Rick was trying to take his shirt off, bloody fingers fumbling at the tail of his t-shirt. 

Daryl stepped close to him, gently moving Rick’s shaking hands aside so he could help him. He heard the shuddering breaths coming from Rick’s chest and looked up to see how wet and red his eyes looked, though no tears actually seemed to be falling. 

The shirt was hard to get off, dried blood made it stick to Rick’s chest and arms as Daryl pulled it up over Rick’s head. They were all used to the walker blood and viscera, but this time its presence on Rick hurt Daryl. He shouldn’t have done this by himself. Though he had known better than Glenn to try to help or stop the man, it didn’t change the fact that Daryl didn’t want to think about Rick torturing himself this way.

Rick let his shirt drop to the floor but he didn’t move to continue undressing, so Daryl reached for his belt himself. He’d helped with his shirt without thinking. Undoing Rick’s pants was another matter.

It seemed too personal, but Daryl really had no choice. Rick was so messed up that he couldn’t do it himself. It wasn’t like they hadn’t all seen each other undressed before. That was on the road, though. At the prison, with more privacy to be had, people didn’t just strip in front of each other all the time any more. And they were alone, in a mostly dark room. It seemed too intimate and Daryl wasn’t used to intimacy.

Rick’s belt was heavy, thick, warm from Rick’s body, the buckle clinking in the big empty room. It couldn’t be pulled from the loops – the holster and cuffs and other stuff that hung from it prevented that – so Daryl just unbuttoned and unzipped Rick’s pants, sort of steeling himself as he wrapped his arm around the other man to keep him steady as he slid the weighty garment down Rick’s bowed legs. 

Rick seemed to regain enough awareness to help at that point, toeing out of his boots so his pants could be removed. Daryl kept hold of them so they wouldn’t fall on the wet floor, throwing them over the low wall of the shower stall. 

He heard Rick groan and turned back quickly, realizing the man could be injured. God, if he was bit now, Daryl would really lose it.

Rick was leaning forward, holding his arms across his belly as if in pain. 

“You hurt, Rick?” he asked tentatively. “You’re not bit, are ya?” 

“Huh?” Rick looked up at him, eyes bleary.

Daryl took it upon himself to look over Rick’s body for bites and wounds, forcing himself not to tremble as his fingers brushed over the smooth skin of Rick’s slender physique. Now was not the time to let himself notice the man’s beauty. A sigh of relief escaped Daryl when he found no injuries . The pain was all inside him, then. 

He worried that if he just turned and left him there by himself, Rick would collapse or something.

Not knowing what else to do, Daryl pushed at Rick until he was standing under the shower spray, making sure he was steady before he quickly shrugged out of his own clothes and joined him.

Rick was just standing there, so Daryl picked up the soap, moving behind Rick and wrapping one arm around his upper chest, rubbing him down with the soap to sluice the dried blood and guts away. 

Rick hissed at the cold spray, flinching back and bringing his body closer to Daryl’s. Daryl closed his eyes, needing a minute to deal with the fact that Rick’s back was plastered down his front, that Rick’s ass was pressed to his groin.

Rick, as if unaware of their proximity, lifted his face into the spray, rubbing the blood off his face and beard stubble with both hands.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to concentrate on being Rick’s friend and not on the fantasies he’d had about the other man for the past months. That would just be so wrong, to think of how much he wanted to be this close to him, now when his baby was born and his wife was dead and Rick was lost to grief and remorse. 

Daryl had always wanted a man like Rick to be his. He’d never been in a relationship before the world fell apart, never thought he’d find someone to care for him that he could love back. He’d pretty much always known he was gay, but hiding that part of himself had become as natural as hiding the scars on his back. Merle had suspected, of course. It was obvious from the taunts his brother never held back from making, calling him Darleena, hinting that he had seen Daryl noticing some other guy. If he had ever acted on his desires, Merle would have been sure to find out, so Daryl had done his best to hide that side of himself from his brother, from the rest of the world and even from himself most of the time.

And then the world had gone to hell and he had met Rick Grimes. 

He still hid his feelings. The guy was married for one thing, even though the marriage was in pretty bad shape. Daryl wouldn’t have made a move anyway, not even knowing how to approach a man who was single. It was enough to be what Rick needed him to be, the group’s hunter, his friend, his second in command. If Daryl got hard when Rick unconsciously moved closer to him while they caught a few hours sleep beside a camp fire, that was his own secret. He didn’t feel ashamed of it though. Come morning, he would wander off to take care of it alone, like he always did, Rick and nobody else the wiser. If Daryl dreamed about them being together, he kept that a secret too. His own secret to cherish when he felt at his lowest during the long cold winter, a harmless wish that would never be fulfilled.

He shivered as Rick’s body, slick from the cool water, aligned with his own, fitting against him as perfectly as it did in Daryl’s dreams. He took a deep breath, trying not to tremble at the closeness, not to embarrass himself. The sleek, smooth skin of the other man was caressing his own naked flesh and Daryl was getting hard.

 _Walker guts… dead prisoners… spoiled food…_ He tried to think himself soft, but it wasn’t working. 

Rick probably wouldn’t notice though, he told himself. He was wrapped up in his own misery, barely aware of the soap Daryl was running over his arms and chest and stomach. As a distraction, Daryl thought ruefully, that wasn’t much of one.

His hand, still holding the soap, was on Rick’s lower belly right now. He couldn’t help noticing how hard it was, flat, in between that gorgeous v shape made by his hip flexors, smooth from the soaked-flat hairs leading lower. He really should move his hand, Daryl told himself. He had been pretty good at resisting temptation most of his life, aided by the fact of his fears being stronger than his needs, but his was more than he thought he could handle. Not that he was going to really take advantage of Rick this way; he wasn’t that much of a sicko. But he wanted. So bad. This close to the part of Rick he had let himself fantasize about, it was difficult not to at least look down, much less to let his hand wander lower. He could say he was just washing him, couldn’t he? Rick would believe that, wouldn’t he? Desperate, conflicted, Daryl held himself totally still, trying to get a grip on himself before he recklessly dropped the soap to grip Rick’s soft dick in his hand.

The sound of a groan broke Daryl’s stasis. He glanced down, thinking he had done what he shouldn’t, but he had somehow managed to keep himself from overstepping. 

And it was Rick who had groaned. His head had fallen back against Daryl’s shoulder, his eyes closed tightly, mouth open slightly. Daryl couldn’t tell if the groan was one of pain or grief or what. His heart ached for the man he was holding though and he damned himself for the frivolous thoughts he’d been having. Who would think of sex at a time like this?

Then he felt a touch on his hand and looked back down Rick’s body. The other man’s hand had locked on Daryl’s own. Rick’s grip was tight over the back of Daryl’s hand, not letting go even when Daryl moved his own to continue soaping Rick’s lower belly. He wanted to pretend he hadn’t been thinking inappropriate thoughts, wanted Rick not to know. But…

As his own thoughts stammered in confusion, Rick’s grip grew even tighter on Daryl’s hand, pushing now, guiding his stroke. Daryl tried moving his hand to the left, but Rick was pushing it down. 

Lower. 

Lower. Despite Daryl’s resistance.

Rick’s hips jutted upward as his hand pushed Daryl’s right down onto his dick. Another groan escaped Rick’s lips and his other hand tugged the soap from Daryl’s fingers, letting it fall to the floor. 

Daryl’s empty hand was on Rick’s dick, then. And far from being adversely affected by the cool temperature of the water, it was lengthening. Rick’s hand came up to guide Daryl’s, pressing his fingers around the shaft, making Daryl take hold of him there. He couldn’t have resisted if his life had depended on it.

He tightened his grip, feeling Rick harden, letting himself stroke and caress as he’d wanted to for so long. Rick leaned back into him, body begging for Daryl’s touch louder than any words. A deep moan was dragged from him, ending in a sharp cry. “Daryl…” 

Over the months on the road, Daryl had trained himself to respond to his name on Rick’s lips. Whether is was an urgent yell while fighting off walkers or a hushed question in quiet woods, Daryl could no more not react to it that he could stop breathing.

“S’okay,” he whispered to the man in his arms. “I got you.”

Rick’s hips were rocking, responding to Daryl’s strokes. He touched Rick the way he liked to touch himself and it seemed okay to Rick too. He was getting stiffer for Daryl and if that wasn’t the strangest thing Daryl Dixon had ever had to try to wrap his head around, he didn’t know what was.

Rick was groaning now, thrusting up into Daryl’s hand, shuddering against him, getting close. Daryl worked hard trying to make it good for Rick, wanting to be tender to him, to give him pleasure to fight the pain he was suffering, wanting to do what Rick needed. 

He didn’t fool himself into believing that this wasn’t just for Rick. That Rick wasn’t so out of it that he didn’t even realize what he was doing, that he would remember this after it was over. Daryl didn’t mind. He’d do anything for Rick and he had known that a long time. It wouldn’t happen again and Rick wouldn’t remember and Daryl didn’t even want him to. They would both be embarrassed and with as fucked up as the world was, they didn’t need that to make things worse

Rick was panting hard against him now, dick straining in Daryl’s hand, hips jerking. With a harsh groan, Rick came. His dick got impossibly stiffer, shooting in Daryl’s grip, seed washing away with the water still spilling over them.

Daryl expected Rick to pull away from him then but instead, Rick’s arms came around him and he turned himself to face Daryl, wet hands moving up to rest against Daryl’s cheeks. 

Rick looked into Daryl’s eyes and the man wasn’t out of it, wasn’t lost in despair. He was totally conscious of where he was, who he was with and what he was doing. 

Before Daryl could take that in, Rick was kissing him, taking Daryl’s open mouth and sliding in his tongue, holding his head to adjust the angle for himself. He pushed Daryl back against the shower wall, hands moving to caress his sides and hips, reaching around to squeeze at Daryl’s ass. 

Stunned, Daryl couldn’t do anything but respond. The feel of Rick holding him, fully aware as he kissed and fondled Daryl was almost too much. Daryl’s legs went weak and he started sliding down the wall, Rick following him all the way.

They ended up with Daryl on his back, Rick on top of him, moaning as he devoured Daryl’s mouth, kissing him with unleashed passion. Rick was lying between Daryl’s open legs, humping against him despite having already orgasmed. And Daryl, overwhelmed, couldn’t stop himself from rutting up against Rick. He didn’t bother about why this was happening, just accepted. Took it for what it was, two people needing each other. Two men forgetting everything as they took solace in each other on the damp floor of a prison shower room in a world where the dead got up and walked around and killed the living.

Rick leaned up, looking into Daryl’s eyes, his hand gripping his chin. Then he let go to trail his hand down the length of Daryl’s body, kneeling up so he could handle Daryl’s hard on. With another quick glance into Daryl’s eyes, Rick bent over him then, swallowed Daryl’s cock down as if he had been giving head all his life. 

Only this man, Daryl had seconds to think, would not just take for himself. Only Rick would defy Daryl’s expecations. Only Rick would turn and hold Daryl and give.

“Rick!” Daryl screamed the name out, delirious as he felt Rick’s mouth enclose him, as he felt the suction and heat and power. His brain short circuited, his hips jerked up and bliss erased everything else as he came in Rick’s mouth, Rick’s hot, sensuous, marvelous mouth, until he lay gasping and writhing on the floor, twitching as Rick drew out every last drop, the last of his tremors, easing Daryl through until it was over. 

Then Rick lifted his head, gave Daryl’s spent cock a last sweet caress and draped his body over Daryl, just holding him close on the wet shower floor. He didn’t say a word. He just tenderly enfolded Daryl as if he were something very precious to Rick. Rick’s arms around him filled all the empty places that had lived so long in Daryl’s lonely soul. He lay there, content, marveling at what had happened, what this man had given him.

He didn’t know how long they lay there together, holding each other in a world they’d made that didn’t contain walkers or crying babies or dead wives or belligerent brothers. Daryl didn’t say a word, not wanting to break the spell, nothing in his life preparing him for what to say in this situation. He figured Rick didn’t know what to say either. 

Finally, Rick stirred in his embrace, coughing a little as if he thought he should say something, but couldn’t. He moved stiffly, the cold having seeped into both of them, and awkwardly he extricated himself from Daryl’s hold, pushing up against the floor to stagger to his feet. 

Daryl figured that’s what he should do too. He pulled himself up, not really knowing where his eyes should go now. He backed up against the shower wall and waited for Rick to decide what would happen next.

“Uh…” Rick’s voice was rough, deeper than usual. He glanced toward Daryl, let his hand fall on his shoulder. “It’s getting’ cold, isn’t it?” he asked finally. 

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed. “We should get back.”

Rick looked around then, seeming confused. Daryl reached to turn off the water. There was only one towel nearby so he handed it to Rick. When the other man seemed not to know what to do with it, Daryl dried him off, rubbing the rough terry cloth over his shoulders and back, down his hips and legs quickly, not wanting to get too close to the more intimate parts he had been allowed to touch before. 

When Rick was somewhat dry, Daryl put the towel around his own neck and looked him over. He was swaying, eyes unfocused again, going back to the lost man he’d been when they had entered the room. Daryl gripped his arm and led him to where his pants were hung over the wall.

“Here,” he said, picking them up. “Let’s get you dressed.”

Rick managed to help get his own jeans back on, then he leaned down to retrieve his boots. Daryl didn’t move for his own clothing, wanting to be sure Rick was steady.

Rick didn’t put his boots on and apparently had no interest in the soggy, bloody shirt he had dropped on the floor. He met Daryl’s eyes for a moment. “I… uh… better go,” he rasped.

Then, before Daryl could respond, he turned and made his way from the shower room, barefoot but seeming steadier than when he’d come in.

Daryl watched him go, his own mind whirling with unanswerable questions. He went over to where he’d left his own clothes and pulled them on over his still damp body. When he made it to the corridor, Rick was nowhere to be found.

Later, as the group took time for a meal in the cafeteria, with Daryl sitting on his own on the steps, Rick had shown up. He all business, dressed in clean clothes, saying he was just making sure Carl was okay, deliberately not looking toward where Beth was holding the baby. He only spoke to Daryl about dead walkers and ammo, then returned to the bowels of the prison, leaving Daryl and everyone else to wonder just how far gone their leader was.

In the days that followed, Daryl just went with the flow of things. When they needed supplies, he went on runs. When the baby cried, he fed her. (He let Beth do the changing though.) When Rick seemed okay, he stood where he usually did, to the side and maybe half a step behind him, so he could back him up. When Rick looked like he was going off the deep end, Daryl went to him. 

It seemed like he was the only one who could handle him at times like that. And after he almost punched Hershel when he confronted Rick about the phone calls he thought he was getting, nobody else wanted to try.

Rick didn’t act like anything had changed in their relationship. Daryl figured that he was too out of it most of the time, that it was so far out of the ordinary for a guy like Rick, that he might have forgotten it, like he’d expected him to while it was happening. Even though Rick had seemed to be really looking at him after they’d finished, Daryl guessed he’d been mistaken. He wasn’t that good at figuring people out after all.

So on the third night after the baby was born – Daryl hated calling it the third night after Lori died – when Rick came to his cell, Daryl had been surprised.

He was on his bunk, the sheet drawn up to his chest, his clothes tossed in the corner. Rick didn’t knock or say anything. He just pushed the sheet aside and peered in. 

“Rick?” Daryl questioned carefully, unsure what was going on. He had found Rick wandering the hall yesterday, his eyes unfocused, talking to himself as if to Amy over the phone.

“I…” Rick started, then stopped again. He looked down at the floor. “This is wrong. Sorry.” 

“Don’t go.” Daryl said it before Rick had even turned half way to leave. Considering he was naked under the sheet, he didn’t want to get up so he was glad when Rick stopped.

The other man didn’t say anything though. After a moment, Daryl realized it was up to him. “What’s ‘wrong’?”

Rick seemed to sag in the doorway, his shoulders drooping. “Me comin’ here.” His voice was hollow. “Wrong of me. I can’t… use you again.”

“That’s not what happened,” Daryl said, trying to put all his conviction into his voice. 

Rick was shaking his head though. “I shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what?”

“Feel that way. About you.” Rick leaned over as if his gut were hurting, both hands on his knees. “My wife just _died_ and here I am… wantin’ someone else.”

He suddenly straightened and turned back to face Daryl fully. “If that’s isn’t using someone, I don’t know what is.”

Daryl didn’t care that he wasn’t wearing anything. He threw the sheet back and climbed off his bunk, going directly to Rick.

“You aren’t usin’ me.” He took hold of Rick’s pale, sad face and kissed him on the mouth, as tenderly as he knew how. “It’d be using if you didn’t have feelings, Rick.” He felt weird about saying that, like he was asking the other man to make some kind of declaration, but he was going with his instincts right now. Rick had said that he shouldn’t feel that way about him, not that he just wanted him, hadn’t he?

Rick’s arms came up around Daryl’s waist and he laid his head on his shoulder. “I do have feelings for you.” His arms tightened, Rick bringing their bodies closer. “I do.” His lips nuzzled Daryl’s neck. “I shouldn’t though.”

Daryl kissed Rick’s rough cheek. “Why?”

Rick’s hands tightened on his waist a moment, then eased up a bit. He raised his head and met Daryl’s eyes. 

“Because my wife just died and any decent man should be grieving. I shouldn’t feel like I’m finally free.” He leaned in and kissed Daryl. It was a long, soft, gentle kiss but there was more behind it. Daryl wasn’t completely sure what it meant, only that there was intent there, the simple sincerity only Rick was capable of, the vast well of compassion and bottomless need within him. Rick’s kiss had so much to tell Daryl and Daryl wanted desperately to listen.

At last Rick drew back. When he spoke his voice was shaky. “I’ve been having these feelings… about you… for a long time. I couldn’t act on them. I wasn’t sure if they were real at first. Then I wasn’t sure if you would want to know. And I was a… a married man.”

He stopped a moment, closing his eyes as if to regain control. “I fell apart when I saw the baby and realized… she was gone. I was so _angry_ , I had to take out the walkers that caused her to die. I _had_ to do it myself. Carl had to do… what he did. Maggie did what she had to do. And I’d been too far away to do what I shoulda done.”

“She was my wife and that was my job. I did love her, Daryl. But it was over a long time ago.” He stopped, drew a deep, hitching breath. “And you found me and helped me clean off all the blood and gore from them. And you were there… for me.“

Raising his hand, Rick drew his fingers through Daryl’s hair, let them slide down his cheek, caressing, looking at him with worship in his eyes. “You were where you always are. Takin’ care of me. I didn’t half know what I was doing when I took hold of your hand… but in a way I knew better than I ever did before what it was I needed. I was… free. And you could make the hurt go away, just for a minute. But I didn’t want you to think I was just using you or going crazy or..."

“Rick,” Daryl breathed, kissing him to shut off the flow of words. If he didn’t stop them, they would become a torrent and Rick would be second guessing himself and talking himself out of this. 

When he pulled back from the kiss, Rick’s eyes were full of questions. Daryl knew the answer.

“Come to bed with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fandom and meeting the members of the Rickyl Writers Group has opened the flood gates for my writing! They are all so supportive and welcoming and it's great to discuss stories and the characters with them.
> 
> Note to all Rinch fans: I won't be neglecting our guys, don't worry. In the coming chapters I will give them a little privacy and let them do some love making too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Reese's POV with Finch at the prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Yes, I've finally updated this fic. It was hard for me to even think about Reese and Finch for awhile and lately it's been difficult to write Rick and Daryl too. Both shows mean so much to me, but both have gone in directions I'm having trouble dealing with. But I've decided to take what I love and keep it and not worry about what I don't. And I've been watching clips of POI and fan song vids on YouTube lately and suddenly John and Harold were back in my mind and heart. Thanks to those who waited so patiently for an update. I'll try to be faster from now on.

“You should get some rest, Harold,” John said, keeping his voice low. Now that they were alone in their cell, all his focus was on Finch. He knew he’d been saying that a lot lately, but there wasn’t much else he could say to him. He couldn’t talk to him about the numbers, or really much of anything else. The world had changed. It was broken and had swallowed up everyone they knew, everyone they had helped, leaving only himself and Finch.

In a way, it was just as it had always been – the two of them facing a world only they understood together. But with the civilization that had bred them, Finch had nothing to tether him to reality. His purpose was gone and the man who was so brilliant was lost.

But Reese had not lost his purpose. His purpose, as always, was Finch. To follow his orders, to help the numbers who now had stopped coming, but to be at his side and do whatever it was that he could do for Finch in what was left of the world.

At least his skills were useful in the changed landscape they’d wandered into. Reese could shoot and he didn’t need to aim for the knees of the undead. He could take the head shots he wanted and keep Finch safe from death. All he’d wanted for the last few days had been to get the other man someplace safe so they could re-group and for Finch to come to terms with the changes. 

Now, it seemed, they had arrived at their destination, though Reese hadn’t expected it to be a dusty prison in the South, populated by a small group of survivors who had taken them in though they hadn’t had to. But they were relatively safe and if he had learned nothing in his life, it was not to look a gift such as safety in the mouth. There were walls, thick walls, around them and a fence and big gates with watch towers. The dead who would stop at nothing could not get through and finally -- _finally_ \-- Reese could let down his guard. 

Bear whined and nudged at Reese’s leg. Absently, he bent to pat the dog’s head and took a moment to glance around at the sparse contents of their room. There was a sink in the corner. Reese stepped over to it and turned the faucet, but no water came out. 

He wasn’t that surprised that the plumbing didn’t work. Nothing worked anymore. Not lights, not heat or air conditioning or electricity or technology. He unzipped his duffle and pulled out a half empty bottle of water and tipped it for Bear to lap at the liquid. When it was finished, Bear proceeded to sniff around the perimeter of the little cell, as if to satisfy his search for enemies and make sure they were safe. 

For his part, Harold had remained in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around himself, his face wearing the look of confusion that Reese still hated seeing yet was becoming accustomed to. 

“Come on,” get out of your jacket,” Reese suggested, keeping his voice gentle and urging. “We’re going to settle in.”

“Oh.” Roused slightly from wherever his mind kept taking him these days, Finch nodded and stiffly removed his bespoke suit jacket. “It is rather warm.”

Reese took the garment from Finch’s pale fingers and hung it from the metal bed post. He resolved to find something to hang Harold’s clothes on as soon as possible. If there wasn’t anything in the cells themselves, he assumed the guards’ quarters or offices might have some hangers or perhaps even a clothes rack. And they’d need a table or desk of some kind. He wanted to make things as much like their old quarters as he could, to give Finch some point of reference to rely on. Not that he had any way of working now, but Reese didn’t have any other way of helping him.

“Where are we, John?” Finch’s voice sounded plaintive, but for once not completely disoriented.

“It’s a prison, Finch,” John informed him, worried that the other man had not seemed to comprehend any of the day’s conversation. “Our new friends have offered us a place to stay.”

“I wonder if there’s a library,” Finch mused, walking around the small space as if to pace out its dimensions. “Don’t most prisons have libraries?”

“You assume I would know,” John remarked, following him with his eyes. 

“You’ve been inside several, as you know I’m aware.” Finch’s rejoinder sounded so like his normal self that John felt his heart clench. 

“We’ll ask,” Reese told him. “I’m sure there is one. We can bring some books into our room here.”

“Our cell, you mean,” Finch corrected, his voice lilting with a ghost of his usual whimsy. “I feel very… clandestine… here with you.” He reached out and plucked at Reese’s sleeve, drawing him closer. “It’s a bit like being undercover, isn’t it?” 

Reese couldn’t help the way the side of his mouth quirked up. He put his hands on Finch’s shoulders. “You were always much better undercover than you thought you were,” he told him, looking into his eyes. 

“Better than you thought I’d be, you mean,” Finch teased back. He raised up a bit and Reese lowered his head to press their lips together. 

It felt so good, so normal. Reese let his eyes close while he savored the contact between them. Maybe, once they were in the same place for a few days, Finch would come back to himself. Maybe their survival would mean more than wandering alone with his companion only half aware of the world around them. 

Reluctantly, he stepped back when he Finch didn’t deepen the kiss. “We need to get some batteries.”

It wasn’t the first time Reese had heard that statement from him. “I know. I’ve been looking.”

Finch stepped past him and reached up to where he’d left the brief case on the upper bunk. “The light is still blue, but we can’t wait too much longer.”

“They’re piezoelectric batteries, remember?” Reese had already reminded Finch of this fact, that the batteries were self-charging, many times in the past few days. 

“They won’t last forever, Mr. Reese,” Finch said, sounding aggravated. “We need to find more or a way to keep them charging.”

“I know.” Reese sought away to distract the other man. He didn’t think it would do much good to inform him that they were out in the countryside, far from any large cities where they could find the type of batteries that they needed. And what would be the purpose anyway? Even if they could keep the Machine alive, there was no power grid for it to use, no computers or cell phones for it to access. It had no purpose, no way to do the job Finch had programmed it to do.

In the first terrifying days when civilization as they knew it had fallen, he’d tried to explain things to Finch. And every time he’d thought the other man had grapsed the enormity of their situation, only to realize that the man couldn’t really process it, couldn’t take it in. Maybe Finch just couldn’t believe it. 

Harold Finch had believed in technology all his life. Had created the most powerful computer the world had ever known himself. The idea that it was for nothing, that never again would his Machine see and hear everything, never analyze conversations and facial expressions and identify numbers was simply too much for him. 

And the idea that Finch, that this slight man with such a great intellect and depth of caring for his fellow citizens, might be so damaged that he would never truly comprehend that the world had completely fallen apart was something Reese was still not ready to accept. He was only just barely hanging on himself, fighting through their changed reality, doing his best to keep Finch safe in a landscape devoid of the technology on which they had relied every day of their lives. Entertaining the thought that Finch might truly be lost was something Reese was not prepared for. 

Harold Finch had brought Reese back from the edge of suicide, from the brink of despair and given him purpose, a reason to get up in the morning, a home. For years, Reese had lived with Finch as the center of his world. He’d had many things to worry about in that time – when Root had kidnapped Finch, Reese had feared for his life. And there had been others who had threatened Finch too. But Reese had never thought of what it would be like to have Finch alive and yet broken, unable to understand what was really going on around them. 

Unable to stop himself, Reese wrapped both arms around the man who was beyond precious to him. If only he had the strength in his body to help him understand and deal with what had happened, he’d give it gladly. But all his strength and expertise couldn’t do what needed to be done now.

“We’ll get through this, Harold,” he murmured, lips close to Finch’s ear. “I’m here and we’ll get through this.”

“I’m here for you too, John,” Finch told him, his voice firm and reliable as ever, though Reese knew it wasn’t real, didn’t really compute in the man’s consciousness. “Always.”

That word sent a shiver through Reese’s body and soul. Yes, Finch was always there for him, if not through his earpiece, he was there for him in person as they clung together in a gray painted cell in the woods of Georgia. And Reese knew that it was true. Only death would separate them now. Maybe Finch was damaged irreparably. But he was alive. Reese had to hang onto that knowledge, to somehow letting himself fall into the despair that had dogged their journey from New York.

**Author's Note:**

> I just got into The Walking Dead and this crossover seemed appropriate. 
> 
> Esteefee mentioned that Finch would be unhappy about not having dry cleaners in the zombie apocolypse. Thanks for that, hon!


End file.
